


How to Balance School and the Undead

by izadreamer



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Ghosts, Major Character Undeath, Murder Mystery, Possession, ghosts and spirits ahoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izadreamer/pseuds/izadreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College is tough and money is tight. So when Kaito comes across an apartment with incredibly cheap rent, he doesn’t think twice before calling the landlord. However, he soon finds himself wishing he had read the fine print—the place is haunted, and the ghost he now calls a roommate isn’t the most cooperative person.</p><p>aka: "My roommate is an asshole ghost who won't let me study in peace."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Elle for the summary! If anything major comes up, I'll let you guys know before hand-- so if you'd like to read but don't want the violence-heavy chapters, I'll let you know.
> 
> This takes place in an alternate universe where the Barian/Astral Worlds don't exist, and dueling doesn't hold much importance. With that out of the way-- Enjoy!

 

_“Chris… Chris, are you there? Chris! Chris, pick up!”_

Christopher Arclight isn’t certain what he’d expected when he woke up at five in the morning, his alarm ringing in his ears and jolting him from his unplanned sleep. The last two days spent hovering over lab work had done their damage, sending him into a deep and fitful slumber at some late hour during the night. Even when he woke the exhaustion remained, and he had stumbled down his stairs still half-asleep.

He’d been bemused to see the capitalized “MISSED CALL” lighting up the screen of his D-gazer, discarded carelessly on his kitchen counter. He almost laughed when he saw it dated back to three hours ago—as even those who were aware of his sporadic sleep cycle knew better than to call him at two in the morning.

He had clicked on the voicemail almost absently; positive it was just an advertisement or some poor overworked individual calling the wrong cell. He hadn’t recognized the number, and as such was startled to hear Kaito’s shaky, hoarse voice issue from the tinny speakers.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it most certainly wasn’t this.

_“Pick up, damn you! Chris! Christopher! Hey! Pick up!”_

It’s not the words that snatch his attention—Kaito’s irritable mood is expected and familiar, coaxing a fond smile out of him until he registers the tone. Kaito’s voice is twisted in a pleading manner, desperate and fearful, a thin quality to his words that makes him sound far more fragile than he really is. Chris has never heard him speak like this before, not since…

 _“…you’re asleep, aren’t you? Fucking figures as much.”_ Anger starts to creeps into his voice, his words sharp and biting—and yet, they are rushed, lacking in any true heat. _“Probably stayed up all night over some broken piece of shit equipment again, you idiot! You’re probably sleeping right now atop that old piece of trash you call a desk, practically dead to the world while I’m—”_ He stops. A shaky breath crackles over the line, filling Chris’s silent kitchen with the sound of static. _“I…”_

_“I think I’m going to die, Chris.”_

The words are said so quietly the microphone barely catches the sound; soft, sad, and defeated in a way that doesn’t fit Kaito at all. Chris stands shock-still, disbelieving and horrified, eyes widening.

 _“I mean, I kind of figured as much, you know?”_ Kaito babbles, his words coming faster, his breaths hitched. _“You can’t get involved in this sort of thing and… stay alive, that’s not how it works, so—so I knew it was going to happen eventually, I just—”_

He stops, and then laughs brokenly, the sound distorting due to both the bad connection and Kaito’s own hysteria. It’s frightening, unsettling not only because of the words but because desperation doesn’t suit Kaito, and neither does fear. Yet here are both, clinging to Kaito’s stuttering words and wrecked laughter. Chris knows the voice but the person speaking through the phone is a stranger he cannot recognize.

Hearing it is like a physical blow, and Chris finches away from his D-gazer as that terrible noise echoes in his ears, backing against his kitchen counter. The solid surface supports him as he slowly slides to the floor, unable to stop his trembling as he listens to the rest of the message, his heart heavy.

Something lost creeps into Kaito’s voice. He sounds tired and worn as he murmurs to himself, defeat clinging to every word Chris isn’t mean to hear. _“Why am I even saying this…? I never meant for this to become anyone else’s problem, and now...”_

He trails off, quieting, breathing raggedly to try and regain composure. The silence is even more unsettling that the laughter.

Chris tugs strands of his hair with clammy and shaking hands, staring unseeingly at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think, and there’s a sinking feeling starting in his chest. Three hours. Kaito called three hours ago.

How much has happened since then?

Another voice, female and unfamiliar, shouts something from far off, her words reedy and indecipherable. Distorted and faint echoes of crashing and arguing can be heard in the background as Kaito exhales shakily into the phone, his voice quickening and his tone fearful.

_“Chris… Chris, you have to go to my apartment. There’s—I can’t say, but you’ll know what it is. It’s gold, heavy. Old—you have to find it, okay? It belongs to someone important. You can’t let them have it. You have to find it, you have to help him, you **cannot** let them find it!”_

More banging comes from Kaito’s end, loud and startling, a heavy fist slamming down on creaky metal as a high-pitched singsong follows after it. The girl shouts again, this time her words loud and clear. _“Kaito, hurry it up! We don’t have much time!”_

 _“It’s in the apartment,”_ Kaito says again, pleading. _“And—and tell Haruto, tell him I’m sorry. That I love him. Can you tell him that for me? I don’t… I’m not going to be able to.”_ Another hitched breath, another burst of static. The timer on the voicemail is ticking down. Only seconds to go before this last message from Kaito reaches its end.

_“I never meant to get you involved… to get anyone involved. I just… I didn’t know who else to call. I know you don’t have any reason to help me, not after—after what I said but…”_

Another breath, this one stabilizing and strong, and the banging is getting louder and the girl screams, a vengeful howl ripping through the air, Kaito’s name a curse on her lips—

“ ** _Please_**.”

—and then the voicemail ends, leaving Chris alone in an dark empty house in early morning, with only his ragged breaths to fill the silence and his dark, wondering thoughts to keep him company.

 _Three hours,_ he thinks, and stares down at his phone. He should be moving, he knows. Grabbing a coat and rushing to catch the next tram into Heartland, calling Dr. Faker and everyone else, just to see if they’ve seen Kaito at all in these last few hours, if they know why.

He thinks he should, but he doesn’t. Chris slumps against his kitchen counter and tries to breathe, unmoving and still because he knows that no matter how fast he runs or who he calls, it is already far too late to do anything.

 


	2. The Apartment Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaito meets his first ghost. It... doesn't go very well.

Kaito lets his bag drop to the floor, a cloud of dust lifting up into the musty air upon impact. Weak light filters through the dirty windows, and a thin coating of grime colors the whole room gray, from the boxes he had moved in months earlier to a thicker, more stubborn layer on the floor, disturbed only by their footprints. It is small, cramped, and it _smells_ , a strange damp scent that is mix of rot and mold, and perhaps a dead body or two.

He breathes in, keeping his expression blank despite the stench and holding back a sneeze from the lungful of dust he just inhaled. He hears Orbital shift awkwardly behind him, his discomfort displayed only by a few muted beeps. Fright is the only thing keeping his numerous complaints at bay.

“Well,” Kaito says wearily. “He did say it was a shitty apartment.”

Orbital makes a muffled noise, clearly wishing to say something insulting but holding it back for fear of Kaito’s mood. He is undoubtedly annoyed with the situation—when is he _not_?—but this day has been one bad break after another and Orbital has enough sense to know that insults will only end badly, even if this whole situation is Kaito’s fault.

Though to be fair to Kaito, he had assumed the words “it’s a shit apartment” meant loud neighbors and mold, not… _this_. He has a pretty good idea of why Vector, the young and sardonic landlord, grinned broadly when Kaito paid the rent. Also as to why Kaito wasn’t allowed to see the apartment beforehand.

Kaito already considered Vector an asshole, but now he reevaluates his opinion. Vector is much worse than that, if this is the quality of the apartments he owns. Is it even legal to rent these out? For that matter, does it pass basic health inspection?

He’s pretty certain the answers to both questions is “no”, but it’s not like he has any other options. College is expensive, living alone even more so. The apartment is cheap and far away from Heartland Tower, almost on the edge of the city, exactly what he was looking for. He could, in theory, borrow money from Dr. Faker—but that means talking to the man, and admitting Kaito was wrong, which. Nope. Not happening.

Kaito is both desperate and petty, which is too bad because that means he’s stuck living in this place until he miraculously finds a better source of income and an equally affordable apartment. His day just keeps getting better and better with every passing hour.

He sighs softly, surveying the room filled with unpacked boxes, mentally calculating all the work he has to do to make it somewhat livable.

“Get to work,” he orders Orbital after a long pause, exhaustion in his voice. He already knows this job is going to take a lot longer than he would like.

Orbital’s chirp of, “Right away, Master Kaito!” makes him want to groan, but he suppresses it. He’s too tired to deal with Orbital’s enthusiasm, so all he does is grab the nearest box and pry it open, exposing the numerous kitchenware packed securely within.

He hopes he remembered to pack cleaning supplies.

-

As it turns out, Kaito has not, in fact, packed any cleaning supplies, which is why he’s standing in line at a small street-side store, the kind that looks like it sells only eggs and maybe a bag of lettuce but somehow manages to have a little bit of everything.

He scowls at staring customers as he stands in line; a mop tucked under one arm, cleaning agents stuffed into a plastic basket. The trip has taken much longer than he thought it would, mostly due to the fact that Kaito has never actually had to clean anything before. There has always been someone else to do that for him; except Kaito is now in college and ignoring his father, so his rich kid status has been thoroughly trampled. Regrettably.

He had known it would be a different lifestyle, but he certainly hadn’t imagined he might need to know types of cleaning agents, of all things. He has never been as aware of his own advantages in life as he is in this moment.

“Will that be all?” the counter girl asks, giving a falsely cheery smile. Her makeup is smudged, her dyed green hair messy, and she looks as tired as Kaito feels. He thinks he’d feel more sympathetic, except she’s eyeing his pile of items strangely, so any pity is therefore thrown out the metaphorical window.

Kaito examines the items, his mess of cleaning agents and a cheap salad that will probably taste like cardboard, and says, “Yeah.”

She punches in the numbers and he gives her the money, and soon he is walking out the door, heavy plastic bags hanging from both wrists, inwardly cringing over the amount of money he just spent.

He’s gratified to find the windows have a least been cleaned when he returns, and takes probably a cruel amount of satisfaction at throwing the bottle of Windex at Orbital’s head and ordering him to clean it properly.

As Orbital grumbles and slinks off to redo the windows, Kaito opens another box, slicing through the tape with a kitchen knife and prying it open. An unfamiliar pile of items lay in a disorganized pile, instead of the clothes he was expecting. He frowns at heap of objects before realization makes him freeze, fingers tightening on the rim of the box, lips pressed into a thin line.

He doesn’t remember packing these—which only leaves Faker, but even that doesn’t make sense. He knows Faker misses his wife almost as much as Kaito misses his mother, so why would he give Kaito her treasures?

Still, he can’t bring himself to push it away. He solemnly digs though the items: a few old texts, a dirt-encrusted shovel, a magnifying glass, and a few bits of jewelry; his mind lost in memories as he shifts through the box. He’s wasting precious time over this—in all honesty he likely won’t have any place to sleep by nightfall—but he can’t bring himself to move away, entranced by this one last connection to his mother.

In his inattentiveness, something sharp at the bottom of the pile catches onto his hand and slices skin. The pain is sharp and sudden, startling him from his nostalgia.

Kaito curses loudly, whipping his hand from the box and holding it away from him. Despite his efforts, blood splatters the book covers and drips onto the dusty floor, oozing from a long gash starting just under his index finger and slicing horizontally across the top of his hand.

Overcome by a sudden anger, Kaito kicks the box away. He furiously closes it and shoves it into the closet, more upset about staining the items inside rather than his nicked hand. He doesn’t want to look at them anymore, lest he cause more damage.

The cut is painful and bleeding profusely, agitated by the dirty air and the plumes of dust. Kaito holds his other hand under it to keep the blood from staining anything further as he stalks into the kitchen, his expression thunderous.

Orbital sees him, dropping the rag and bottle of Windex at the sight of Kaito’s wound, a loud robotic wail jarring Kaito’s ears. Orbital’s cry cuts off when Kaito’s murderous glare turns to him, but he still hurries over.

“Master Kaito! What happened?!”

“Nothing. Go back to cleaning.”

“B-but, Master Kaito—”

“I said leave!” Kaito snarls, his temper fraying. Orbital quiets, but his worry is obvious from his shuffling and his low, apprehensive hum.

Kaito ignores the robot, roughly pulling at the tap and letting the dirty water flow into the equally grimy sink. He waits until the water clears, then shoves his hand under the lukewarm liquid, hissing through clenched teeth at the sting. The water turns crimson as it swirls down the sink, and from behind Kaito comes a muffled noise of disgust.

Kaito scowls darkly, turning his head to pin Orbital with another glare, hoping the robot will at least get the message to leave Kaito alone, except…

…Orbital isn’t there. The kitchen is empty save for Kaito, Orbital having run off after Kaito’s dismissal.

Kaito starts, turning fully and sweeping his gaze around one last time in case he was mistaken—but there is no one there, and finally Kaito is forced to conclude it was just his imagination, turning back to his injured hand and shaking the mistake from his thoughts.

He washes off the rest of the blood and covers his injured hand with a cloth, too tired to care about the bloodstains. He wrestles one-handedly with the first aid kit tucked into his bag, finally pressing a bandage over the cut.

He throws the dirty rag in the sink, planning to wash it out best he can tomorrow, when he hears a shuffle of movement behind him. A voice murmurs something, tone disproving and the words foreign to his ears.

Kaito whirls around, snatching a discarded kitchen knife and holding it up defensively, breath quickening and skin prickling. He knows Orbital’s speech, the slight robotic lilt to his every word—and that voice, that had been a _human’s_.

He turns his back on the sink, his knife raised high, but once again all he sees is an empty kitchen. An unnatural chill runs down his spine, and he grips the knife a little tighter, unnerved and jumpy. He is hyper-aware of every sound, from the screech of tires outside to Orbital’s comforting whirr as he works in the other room.

This time he doesn’t dare dismiss it as mere imagination—while it remains a possibility, he refuses to think he was twice mistaken. He takes a careful step forward, eyes scanning the room suspiciously, trying to find anything that might be out of place. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, the shadows cast from the sunset creating odd patterns that no longer seem as harmless as they once did.

Kaito lets out a shaky breath, gripping the knife with stiff fingers. He trembles slightly as he turns to set the knife back on the counter, trying to calm his racing heart.

A young man, perched up on the counter and peering down at him curiously, stares right back.

Kaito yelps, dropping the knife and stumbling away, eyes widening. His foot slips on the newly cleaned floors, and suddenly Kaito is falling backwards. The intruder straightens, crying out in alarm as they lunge forward, faded see-through hands reaching out, their bloody fingers brushing Kaito’s shoulder—

And then there is a feeling similar to being plunged into an icy pond, all warmth fleeing his body, white noise buzzing in his ears. Kaito’s head is a scattered mess of pain, and the unrelenting cold making him shudder. His throat closes up and he tastes ash, burning ashes and blood, heavy and thick on his tongue, the taste clogging up his throat and stopping his breath. He stumbles and crashes on the ground, shivering uncontrollably, every bone aching. He feels _wrong,_ a stranger in his own skin.

He tries to jump to his feet, to face the intruder once again, but his body doesn’t obey. He attempts to move his hand, and nothing happens. He goes to open his mouth to speak—but his mouth won’t open and the words don’t come.

Confusion mingles with his panic, thoughts he can’t understand swimming through his head and he realizes that some of the emotions he is feeling aren’t his. The wrongness he feels is _here_ , inside him, controlling his body and locking Kaito away.

He fights to regain control to no avail. His panic is overwhelming common sense, muddling his thoughts. The stranger possessing Kaito’s body moves to their feet and pushes themselves up from the ground, murmuring unfamiliar words. The sounds are awkward on Kaito’s tongue, the stranger’s accent fumbling the phrases.

Kaito tries to scream, move, do absolutely anything at all, and still nothing happens. The spirit—for what else could they be?—continues to stumble around in Kaito’s body, muttering under their breath and bumping into the counter.

 _Let me out!_ Kaito demands, struggling to regain control. It feels as if there are heavy chains wrapping around him, weighing him down and keeping him in place. He pulls against them, desperately fighting against his possessor. _Let me **out!**_

“Let me… out,” the stranger repeats, drawing out each syllable and testing how it sounds. They say the words clumsily, an odd lilt to their speech that sounds bizarre in Kaito’s voice. “Let me…” they trail off, voice hitching, a panic similar but different to Kaito’s overwhelming them both as the stranger brings their hands up to Kaito’s throat, gripping tight, bandaged fingers digging into their skin. “ _OUT_!”

“Master Kaito…?”

Orbital’s fearful robotic voice startles both of them, the spirit whipping around to face the robot. Kaito’s panic reaches new heights, and he struggles against the possession fiercely, grasping for any weakness. He has no idea what this intruder will do, if they’ll kill Orbital or take Kaito’s place, controlling him for the rest of his life with Kaito unable to do anything but watch—

His thoughts grind to a halt, drowned out by the spirit’s panic. Pure fear floods his mind, the possessor stumbling back away from Orbital, chest seizing up and hands pressing against their eyes, before scrambling for a weapon to defend themselves with. Their back slams painfully against the kitchen counter, one hand curling around the handle of the dropped knife still lying on the countertop.

They whip around, the knife held unsteadily in shaking hands, thoughts so hopelessly intertwined neither can think clearly. The world is a blur of color and noise, formless and spinning forever.

“Let me out!” The intruder and Kaito shriek as one, and the cold ebbs, the spirit and Kaito flung away from each other just as explosively as they connected. The force of the separation, as well as the dizzying sensation of being in control once again, sends Kaito toppling.

His socked feet slip on the tile, hands scrambling for leverage and finding only air. The last thing Kaito sees is the spirit staring at him with a horrified expression and wide eyes, and then his head slams hard against the tile and he sees nothing at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles into the distance*
> 
> Little note: the reason the checkout lady (haha guess who) gave Kaito such a weird look is because the nerd literally bought every type of cleaning agent he could find. A few weeks at an outdoor vacation home means nothing when you have robots.
> 
> Also! I'll try and update this fic every Monday, or if not, sometime around then. I hoped you guys liked chapter one!


	3. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaito confronts the spirit haunting his new home, with mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to apologize for this late update--real life has become a bit troublesome as of late, so Monday updates will be a bit sketchy for a while yet. I will do my best to update at least once a week however, so you can count on that!  
> That said, this chapter is a bit rushed due to that, so if you happen to see any big mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them! Otherwise, I think my editing caught most of them.
> 
> With that out of the way--here's chapter two!

Kaito wakes up gradually, his mind fogged and scattered; the glare of sunlight on his eyelids the only thing drawing him away from the numbness of sleep. The sheets are starchy and clean beneath his sore fingers, the covers pleasantly warm. Yet his head pounds fiercely and relentlessly, his body aching, ruining the illusion of comfort. He feels like he’s just been pulled apart piece by piece then reassembled by clumsy, inexperienced hands.

He breathes in, his throat burning and chest protesting the deeper breath. Dust fills his lungs, and he coughs, head spinning. He blinks his eyes open slowly, but despite his caution, he is unable to see straight, the ceiling above him seeming to sway in his warped vision.

Kaito attempts to sit up, the motion pulling at his tender back and stretching smarting muscles. He closes his eyes tight and hisses through his teeth, biting back a cry as pain flares within his head, white-hot and blinding.

It takes him another moment to steady himself, and Kaito keeps his eyes closed as he rests his head against his knees, breathing shallowly. Slowly, the pounding in his head eases, and the sharp pain loses its edge. He swallows down the bile building in his throat, trying to remember how to breathe again.

A clatter at the door prompts him to raise his head, watching tiredly as Orbital rolls in, who jerks back when he notices Kaito. The medical supplies piled in his metal arms tumble to the floor, bottles rolling behind boxes and leaving trails in any undisturbed dust patches.

“Master Kaito! You’re awake!”

For an android, Orbital has always been more emotional than most humans, and now is no different—if not for his metal body, Kaito is certain that Orbital would be beaming, and his robotic voice does little to hide the joy in his tone. Kaito can only blink at him slowly before giving him a dazed nod. He ignores the sentimentality, well-used to Orbital’s dramatics, and carefully pulls himself to the edge of the mattress instead.

“How long was I out?” he asks, casting another annoyed look at the window when a beam of light blinds him momentarily. Kaito has always hated mornings.

At the order, Orbital straightens from where he’d been hurriedly cleaning the spilled supplies and starts to speak, his voice in a mockery of control. “Unconscious for three minutes, and after I administrated painkillers and medical aid, you fell into a natural sleep, which you have just woken from.”

He cringes suddenly and draws away, worry breaking through the solemnity of his voice. “I did not call the hospital due to your wish to avoid Dr. Faker… did I choose wrong?”

“No,” Kaito says, half-listening to Orbital’s report and half-calculating whether or not he can stand in his current state. His head is still aching, but he knows that Orbital is fitted with the best first aid knowledge Kaito could download into his hard drive. In all honesty, avoiding his father is probably best.

He tries to remember how he got into this state in the first place, to no avail. His memories are dull and hazy; a blur of pain and color and panic, and thinking back only makes his headache worse.

Orbital notices his discomfort, and shoves two pills and a glass into his hand without prompting. Kaito gratefully gulps them down, nearly choking in his haste. The water is stale, the pills tasteless, and he can feel them going down his throat, his breath constructing from the brief pain.

He winces and sets down the glass, settling his hands back on the mattress and reading himself to stand now that he is finally confident in his mobility. He rises slowly, one hand pressed against the wall as he steadies himself. It is agonizing and dizzying, but Kaito refuses to fall.

It’s only when he’s steady that he notices Orbital’s uncharacteristic quiet, the automaton shuffling awkwardly and swirling his metal claws around in a nervous gesture.

“Master Kaito… if I may ask…?”

Kaito closes his eyes and does not respond. Orbital clearly takes this as a yes, because his next words come almost immediately, rushed and full of fearful worry.

“Master Kaito, what happened? Why did you fall? You were yelling…”

It takes Kaito a moment to realize what Orbital is referring too, and another to remember it. The blur of pain, the strange spirit, that terrifying moment of realizing he could no longer control his own body…

“The intruder,” Kaito croaks, his throat protesting the use. The pills take at least an hour to come into effect, and until then Kaito will just have to suffer through his discomfort. “Didn’t you see him?”

Orbital is silent. Then, softly, “Master Kaito… there wasn’t anyone in the apartment but us.”

“No,” Kaito says, and his words sound far away and empty of emotion. He feels so tired. He wants to go back to sleep. “There was.”

“Master Kaito—”

“There was someone here, Orbital!” Kaito snarls, his voice scratchy and thin, and doesn’t feel guilty when Orbital flinches. He _knows_ there was someone here. He does not care if Orbital sensed them or not. He knows, because Kaito had seen them and been controlled by them, and he thinks—no, he is certain—that they are still here. Watching and waiting for the right time to reveal themselves.

“They’re _still_ here,” Kaito hisses, and limps forward, hand pressed against the wall. He is angry, and in his anger any fear is left behind him, buried away. This person has invaded his home and made Kaito a prisoner in his own mind. They have knocked Kaito to the ground, have controlled his body against Kaito’s will, and now because of them even Orbital, inherently loyal to his creator, is questioning Kaito.

“Come out!” Kaito shouts and his yell reverberates through the air. His throat burns fiercely, but Kaito ignores the discomfort, never one to be deterred by such things. “Hey! Come out! I know you’re here!”

Orbital flinches at his shouting, drawing away. “Master Kaito, I don’t think—”

_“Come out!”_

“W-we’re going to wake the neighbors, Master Kaito, it’s only six in the morning—”

Orbital stops midsentence, his sensors going haywire. Kaito breathes in and out, dust itching his lungs, a vicious sort of satisfaction numbing his pain.

The man, who has appeared— literally, truly appeared—from nowhere regards them silently, head tilted to the side ever-so-slightly, his shoulders tense and dark blue eyes wary. Even though his narrow gaze stays on Kaito, his eyes flicker to Orbital with every moment the robot makes, his breath catching every time, his bloody fingers curling into fists.

The man is unlike anyone else Kaito has ever seen. Not only is he faded and slightly opaque, his colors dull and lifeless, but his clothes are ancient and foreign. He wears a white tunic with yellow skirts and tan pants, a green sash around his waist and a sword hung from a strip of leather. Gold jewelry dangles from his hair and wraps around his arm, the other arm enclosed in what appears to be a metal glove. His hair is long and blond, tied away from his face except for two strands.

His most striking feature however, is the blood.

It stains the white tunic crimson, covers his arms and paints the left side of his face. His fingers are smeared with it; his old-fashioned sandals stained with it, and even without the faded color and translucently, these deadly wounds littering his body are what confirms Kaito’s suspicions.

This intruder is no longer among the living, and hasn’t been for quite some time now, going from his clothing. It also explains why Orbital has not sensed him—because Kaito’s intruder is a ghost, a spirit, one of the undead, likely invisible in normal circumstances.

He had suspected but the truth is harder to swallow. Sprits are the stuff of legends, the creation of bored minds and frightened children. Ghosts do not— _should_ not—exist. They also should not be haunting Kaito’s new apartment.

The spirit tilts back his head, unknowing of Kaito’s inner turmoil, his eyes glancing over the apartment, lingering on the odd items left discarded on the shelf and the furniture stuffed into the corners. He takes his time in returning his gaze back to them again, a sly edge to his cautiousness that sets Kaito on edge.

“Let me… _out_?” he asks, slowly enunciating each word, his accent twisting the pronunciation. For a moment Kaito is confused, but then he remembers the utter incomprehensibility of the spirit’s thoughts and realizes something else. The ghost doesn’t speak Japanese. That phrase is likely the only true encounter he has had with the language.

“ _Come_ out,” he corrects carefully, watching the spirit’s reaction. He doesn’t expect the ghost to actually understand him, but something urges him to try regardless.

“Come out,” the ghost repeats, and then scowls darkly upon puzzling out the meaning, realizing at last that Kaito had been ordering him to reveal himself. His expression is insulted, and he draws his shoulders back, planting his feet firmly as he glowers. “I will… not!”

 _You did,_ Kaito wants to say, just to see how the sprit will react, but bites the words back at the last moment. He is angry, not senseless. He does not know this spirit, and he’s not willing to risk possession just to find out.

Instead, he turns to Orbital, deliberately making sure to not turn his back on the ghost, the opaque form flickering in the corner of his eye like a dying light. “Do you see him?”

Orbital makes a low whirr of discomfort and confusion, his answer hesitant. “No, I cannot see anything… but my sensors…!” Orbital straightens, and even Kaito’s limited imagination can picture the look of pure indignant anger that would be on Orbital’s face should he have one. “Who is there? Let me see you, intruder!”

“See,” the ghost parrots, annoyance fading in favor of curiosity as he watches Orbital’s theatrics intently. His brow is furrowed. “See… cannot see… this cannot see… _me_.”

The being takes a step forward, his scrutiny now firmly fixed on Orbital. A smug smile spreads across his face, his eyes mischievous and proud. “This cannot see me!” he repeats, louder, and then suddenly the spirit is no longer before Kaito.

Kaito whips around just in time to see the soul reappear before Orbital, hands reaching out and expression a mix between fearful and curious. Panic overcomes him—he hadn’t even considered the ghost going after Orbital, _why_ did he not think of that?—and he makes an aborted movement towards the ghost, wanting to pull him away but leery of making contact.

“Orbital, get back!” Kaito snaps, and watches with horror as the tips of the ghost’s fingers brush Orbital’s metal plating.

Thankfully, for all that Orbital might currently be questioning Kaito’s sanity, he obeys the order immediately. The robot zooms back as fast as his wheels allow, almost missing the spirit’s brief touch. Sparks fly from Orbital’s joints and Orbital starts to shriek, loud and wailing, bright lights flashing. The ghost recoils, shocked and apprehensive.

Kaito claps his hands to his ears and screams, “ _Quiet_!” at the tops of his lungs to be heard over the roar, his early panic drowned out by the jolt of surprise from the loud noise. His quiet sigh of relief is deafening in the ensuing quiet, as is Orbital’s minute shaking as he continues to back away from the spirit, his silence doing little to hide his fear.

“Get away from him,” Kaito tells the sprit, cold anger lacing every word, and the ghost scowls at him, already understanding the meaning. Despite this, he still flits back to his pervious spot, standing a little straighter and with more certainty in his gaze. He doesn’t seem the least apologetic, and Kaito feels something icy and vengeful settle around his heart.

“Leave,” he bites out, curling his fingers into a fist to hide his trembling.

The ghost pauses, tilting his head slightly to peer back at Kaito. “What?”

“I want you to leave,” Kaito growls, stressing the last word deliberately, and this time the sprit gets the message.

The spirit straightens, eyes flashing. He is taller than Kaito by a full foot, and stares him down imperviously, unaffected by the venom in his tone. “No.”

Kaito pulls back his fist and slams it into the wall. The violent action startles Orbital but not the ghost, who watches him with careful eyes, expression blank and calculating. Frustration overwhelms him. It takes all he has to resist aiming his other fist at the spirit—he already knows that will be a useless endeavor.

“This is my home,” Kaito snarls. “I paid for it, I’m fixing it, I’m living here—and you are _not_ welcome _._ So leave, or I will force you out.”

There is silence, as the spirit regards Kaito, narrowed eyes and straight shoulders betraying his true thoughts. There is nothing agreeing in his expression—only a stubbornness that can mirror Kaito’s own and a pride that cannot be matched.

“You are K-ai- _t_ o?” the spirit asks coolly. His name is spoken haltingly, the syllables harsh and said improperly. When Kaito make no move to refute this claim, the ghost nods to himself, eyes glinting.

“I am Mizael,” the spirit says finally, “and you may _try_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't give Kaito drugs? Also the trials of being an ancient Chinese ghost stuck in a modern Japanese city have yet to end. Alas, poor Mizael. XD
> 
> Next chapter we'll be introduced to new main character--and the start of true plot! In a manner of speaking.


	4. The Art of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mizael and Kaito come to a crossroads, of sorts.

To his credit, Kaito does, in fact, make an effort to rid his apartment of its current ghost infestation. It is not easy and likely a complete waste of time, but he does so regardless. Kaito has never been one to back down from a challenge, especially not one issued by a long-dead, incorporeal, snide little snit of a ghost.

Despite this, he is sensible enough to realize physical force is out of the question—partly because of Mizael’s own current state of being, and partly because Kaito will be happy for the rest of his life so long as he never touches Mizael again.

He’s also sensible enough to outright laugh when Orbital mentions exorcisms. Not only does it seem unlikely to work—Mizael is not a demon, after all—but he doubts a priest throwing holy water and brandishing a cross will have any effect on a spirit like Mizael. Additionally, hiring someone to come and try to get rid of Mizael seems… rude, and a bit like admitting defeat.

In the end, Kaito settles for a different strategy: pretending the encounter never happened at all.

He does nothing to acknowledge the fact Mizael exists. He does nothing to chase him out and doesn’t try to contact him again—and waits, hoping his initial impression of Mizael’s personality was correct.

At first, very little happens. Mizael ignores Kaito’s existence as thoroughly as Kaito ignores his, however suspicious he is of Kaito’s behavior. Kaito becomes aware of Mizael’s attention slowly but surely: a cold breeze when there should be none, a pressure in the air, the spine-crawling sense of being watched. It grows more common as the days go by, Kaito’s inactivity setting Mizael on edge.

Physical destruction starts small, with broken dishes and items knocked off shelves. Kaito picks them up and sets them back in place with no reaction. A few days later he starts to dream of blood and fire, and wakes up with a scream choked back in his throat. These are harder to recover from, but he perseveres. They are only dreams, after all.

And he has dreamed of much worse already.

It progresses quickly, from there—from annoying to downright deadly. The taps turn on at night, the burners lit, found out only by an ever-wary Orbital. The items that now fall are fragile ones, and small pieces of glass litter the floor. Once, Kaito nearly trips into the window from a very solid, very real push of air at his back, incomprehensible curses hissed under Mizael’s breath before he vanishes once again.

Then, just as Kaito had predicted—Mizael snaps.

-

Kaito spends his Saturday morning dodging flying mops.

This is a new thing, for him. The mop dodging. Usually Kaito spends his Saturdays asleep until midday, enclosed in warmth and the blissful, uninterrupted silence of sleep.

His new roommate has other plans for him.

He ducks under a bottle of floor polish, wincing when it clashes noisily to the floor. He has no idea how his neighbors have yet to complain about the constant racket, but he isn’t about to question his current luck in that department. He’s also rather thankful that Orbital is still out job hunting for him, because otherwise he would have his hysteria to deal with, too.

So, for all that his day is looking to be rather marvelously shitty, he supposes it could be worse—though if he ends up getting brained by a container of dish soap he might revise that opinion.

Unlike the hazy form Kaito has spotted at the corner of his eye, Mizael is now solid again, more corporeal than he’s been all week. He stands solemnly in the center of the destruction, but his stately air is ruined by the insulted anger twisting his face and the pure irritation and frustration burning in his eyes. His mouth is curled into a sneer, and he scowl darkens further when Kaito dodges another projectile.

“Rude,” he snarls, the word hissed through clenched teeth. “Rude, rude, _rude_ —you do _nothing_!”

Kaito snatches a broom from the air and uses it to knock aside a flyaway brick before tossing it to the ground harshly. This is the moment he has been waiting for all week, the deciding point in whether he can force Mizael to leave or not.

“Because you are not worth it,” he returns, and is satisfied to see the shock flicker across Mizael’s face. “You are not alive. You mean nothing, and can affect nothing, and I’m not going to waste my time.”

“Then I stay,” Mizael hisses, drawing closer. His hands are shaking, his rage barely contained. “I will… your life will be _hell_!”

“I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted you to leave,” Kaito returns coolly. “I was simply waiting for you to reveal yourself. Either you leave now, and never come back, or I force you.”

Mizael laughs, a short, harsh bark of laughter that is full of bitterness. “ _Force_ me? Hah!”

“You’ve been dead a long time,” Kaito snarls back, rage carefully contained, “and there are ways to get rid of spirits in this age. I am _not_ above using them.”

False, unless Mizael forces his hand. Kaito dislikes getting others to do his dirty work. For that matter, Mizael deserves far more respect than that.

However, Mizael doesn’t know this—which is what Kaito is depending on. Mizael would much rather leave of his own will rather than be driven out, he thinks. This is Kaito’s gamble—that Mizael’s pride is greater than his obstinacy.

The ruse works, as Kaito thought it would. Shock flickers across Mizael’s face, breaking through his anger. He looks shaken, as if the idea of Kaito using someone else to drive him out had never occurred to him.

“You will not,” Mizael challenges, but his look is uncertain. He is wavering, the true meaning of Kaito’s words finally sinking in.

“How would you know?” Kaito returns, and Mizael presses his lips together and doesn’t reply, his resentful glare answer enough.

Kaito smiles, and it is not a kind smile. “I see.”

Mizael’s expression darkens, and he snarls a low insult in his native tongue, the words spat harshly in Kaito’s direction. The levitating objects begin to circle him, a faint aura of pale gold surrounding him, and his eyes start glowing brightly with unnaturally intense color. For the first time, he truly looks inhuman.

Kaito doesn’t react to the display. He is angry, but his anger is a cold thing, built up from the wild rage of before into something stronger and impersonal, determined and merciless.

He takes a step forward despite his better judgement, hands loosely fisted as they tend to be whenever he is upset. A wave of rage wells up, and its suddenness makes him dizzy. He isn’t entirely sure why he is angry—in fact, he had planned to stay calm. Yet, the fury washes over him relentlessly, similar to the pain in his dreams and the sensation of choking, losing air and life and breath—

He curls his fingers into his palm, pressing down until his ragged nails start to break skin. The bite of pain clears his head and the pressure eases. This is Mizael’s anger, warped by Kaito’s emotions and desires. They are not Kaito’s emotions, and so he refuses to feel them, refuses to be swayed once again by Mizael’s thoughts.

“Why won’t you just leave?” Kaito asks, his words lightly said. They are neither loud nor soft, simply stated, and perhaps that makes their effect all the greater.

“This is my home,” he continues, when Mizael hesitates to respond. His voice is casual and cold, less like ice and more like a wall, blank and impersonal and uncaring. “You have no right to be here. You never had any right. You’re _dead_.”

Mizael flinches, stepping back as if physically struck. The objects waver, the glow of his eyes faltering in his moment of hurt.

“You think… I do not know?” he demands, shaking. Unlike two weeks before, his words are rapid, unhesitant and strong, though no less accented and simple. “You think… I _want_ to stay?”

“Then leave.”

“No!”

Mizael’s cry reverberates through the air, and above their heads the lights burst, showering them both with glass. The windows explode outward, with a loud bang that deafens Kaito momentarily, the levitated items thrown into the walls with a force the walls shake. An invisible weight slams into Kaito’s chest, knocking him into the far wall, his breath forced out from his lungs.

He curls a hand around his middle and gasps weakly for air, stunned by the sudden violence. Mizael watches him, his expression stricken, but makes no move to approach.

“I can’t,” Mizael murmurs quietly, his voice shaking, when Kaito is breathing normally again. “Not there. Not out. I will _not_.” His voice cracks on the last word, too much emotion to be contained in such simple wording.

He says no more, just stares Kaito down with ragged breathing, his pale form flickering like a candle flame. He holds himself proudly, and if not for the slight tremble in his shoulders, Kaito would have no way of knowing his true feelings.

Kaito is left with a numb, empty emotion; his anger fading as he struggles to regain his breath. He closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and slides down the wall to sit, his head cradled in his hands. His shoulder aches, the dull throbbing distancing him from his emotions.

He remembers when he first met Mizael, a full two weeks ago, and how the spirit had been oddly calm up until Orbital rolled through the door. He remembers how the ghost had never taken his eyes off Orbital’s movements, even going so far as to try and touch him. He recalls the bitter confusion flooding his mind during that dreadful possession, and closes his eyes in defeat.

“You’re afraid of the outside,” Kaito murmurs resignedly, and even though Mizael glares, he does not deny it.

“Those…things,” he says finally, the words halted. “They are…”

“Unfamiliar,” Kaito offers, and Mizael nods hesitantly, his eyes guarded. Kaito looks away, staring out at his broken windows. He’s too tired to be upset—in all honesty it’s his own fault, for goading Mizael—and he vaguely hopes he doesn’t get kicked out of the complex for this.

The ensuing silence is awkward, both of them unsure of their next action. Kaito, while definitely unhappy about it, has already admitted defeat to himself. He tries to imagine how Mizael sees the outside world, with no knowledge of current technology or what happens after death, and finds his desire to be left alone is less than his sympathy.

“You don’t speak Japanese, do you,” Kaito says finally, if only for something to say. It’s not so much a question as a statement, but he has a feeling Mizael will respond regardless.

The spirit squints at him, translating the words, before shaking his head slowly, a few strands of loose hair flying about his face. “Not good.”

“Well.”

Mizael pulls a face, a brief lapse in his otherwise stoic expression. “Not well,” he amends.

Kaito pulls his eyes away from the window, surveying the spirit curiously. Some tension in Mizael’s shoulders has eased, the spirit having caught on to Kaito’s neutral mood. It is a silent thing, their truce, but it exists, and a tension in the air seems to fade away at their acknowledgement of it. Mizael’s gaze is still wary, and still wounded, but his stance has relaxed, and he is no longer on the defensive.

“You’re learning, though. From who?”

Mizael pauses, looking embarrassed. He taps the side of his head gently with one finger, shoulders rigid again. “From… you.”

Kaito stiffens, staring at him in confusion before he realizes what Mizael means. If the possession has made Kaito sensitive to Mizael’s emotions… what did it give Mizael?

He presses his lips together, his mouth a thin line and his eyes hard. The reminder of that experience is not a welcome one.

“Ah. _That_.”

Mizael shudders as well, carefully regarding him before looking away, an expression Kaito can only call guilt on his faded features. “I did not… intend. I did not know that… was.”

This time it is Kaito who remains unresponsive, and he too looks away from Mizael, residual resentment fading. At the time Kaito had assumed the possession was purposeful, but thinking back on Mizael’s behavior, he is starting to realize that Mizael is as unfamiliar with being dead as Kaito is with dealing with them.

“Is that how you knew my name?” he asks finally, and when Mizael shoots him a confused frown, is quick to clarify, “Back during the start of the first week.”

Mizael blinks, then nods. “Yes. I… heard it. From then.” He taps the side of his head again, a bit rougher. His frustration is starting to show, his ire not directed at Kaito but at the language he speaks so little of.

Kaito nods absently, having already guessed as much but pleased to have it confirmed. He runs a hand over his face, trying to disperse the exhaustion he feels with little success.

Climbing to his feet takes more effort than Kaito would like, his sudden collision with the wall injuring his shoulder and jarring his elbow. Mizael eyes him but offers neither help nor an apology, not that Kaito would have accepted either. They stand across from one another, both quiet, the air heavy.

Kaito is the first to look away, less from intimidation and more out of guilt for his words and the ensuing chaos that has come from it. He studies the destroyed room, and sighs softly. He is not looking forward to when Orbital returns.

“I don’t suppose you can help?” Kaito asks sarcastically, and is completely unsurprised to find that Mizael has vanished in the split second Kaito glanced away. Damn ghosts. “Guess not.”

With one last annoyed mutter and a vengeful kick at a shard of wood, Kaito gets to work.

-

It takes three hours to clean up all the glass and throw out the broken items, and longer still to put back the furniture. His windows are busted until he can hire someone to fix them—which won’t be for a while yet, seeing as Kaito still needs to find a job and his bank account is mostly set aside for the college—so instead he hangs up the heavy black curtains he had been planning on selling for some extra cash. The fabric is thick enough to keep out most nuisances.

As per Kaito’s prediction, Orbital returns and promptly freaks out, shrieking at the air as if Mizael will listen and rolling around the apartment wildly as if they are playing hide-and seek, and Orbital has suddenly gained the magical and completely unwanted ability to see ghosts. The only positive to his return is the news he brings and the help he offers.

Kaito has just finished setting the last of the cleaning supplies away for the night when he hears the knock at the door. Orbital is recharging in the corner, so Kaito sets the broom in the closet and makes his way over to the door, wincing when the movement jars his tender shoulder.

He squints through the peephole and, seeing that it is neither his father nor an obvious salesman, cautiously opens the door.

“What?” he snaps, and realizes a moment later the rudeness of his tone. He reflects on it, then dismisses it. He has no reason to be nice to these people.

The girl raises both eyebrows in a mocking sneer, her painted lips drawn down in a frown. She doesn’t comment on his awkwardness, just straightens as if she believes herself taller than her short stature allows, face stately and posture commanding.

“Hi,” she states curtly. “My name is Kamishiro Rio. I’m a paranormal investigator, and I think you’re being haunted by a spirit. May I come in?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaito is probably regretting buying all those cleaning supplies now.
> 
> If Mizael’s words seem too simple, please remember that he’s still learning most of the language. He doesn’t know enough to truly express his thoughts, not yet. Additionally, welcome another main character—Rio!


	5. The Mystery of Rio Kamishiro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaito meets his neighbor, gets a job, and adjusts to his new life. None of these things are as simple as they sound.

Previously: _“Hi,” she states curtly. “My name is Kamishiro Rio. I’m a paranormal investigator, and I think you’re being haunted by a spirit. May I come in?”_

_-_

For a long, awkward moment, Kaito doesn’t say anything at all.

There is no way to describe the emotion he feels—it borders on hysteria, or perhaps amusement, and there is definitely a bit of confusion there as well. The past few weeks have been the strangest he’s had in his life, and this unfamiliar girl with her bored, monotonous tone and unbelievable introduction is just the icing on the cake.

His silence bothers her, if the scowl pulling at her lips and the way her brow furrows is any indication. One hand is propped on her hip, and unlike the false, rehearsed tone from before, her next words are biting and scornful.

“Hey, are you listening? I said—”

“I heard you,” Kaito snaps automatically, forcibly pulling his thoughts into order. He has a feeling that sooner or later the pure strangeness of everything that has happened is going to catch up to him, but like hell is he having a breakdown in front of a stranger.

“And no,” he adds sharply, “you cannot come in. Goodbye.”

He makes to shut the door but the girl—Rio—darts forward, shoving her sandaled foot in-between door frame and door. Her quick action startles Kaito, who steps back to avoid her, the door swinging open further with his momentum.

Rio looks up at him and glares, her expression peeved. Her gaze unnerves him, her eyes a sharp, piercing blue that glint in the dim lighting of the hall. The scowl looks out of place on her narrow face, her stance stiff and arms held out awkwardly by her side.

“There might be a ghost in your _goddamn apartment,”_ she spits at him, drawing back her shoulders again. “And you aren’t going to let me deal with it? Are you an idiot?”

The insult makes him bristle, and Kaito’s stare quickly shifts into a glower, his fingers tightening on the doorframe. His temper is already worn thin from earlier, and this girl, with her rude words and condescending attitude, is not helping.

Rio sneers right back at him, finally drawing away from the door now that she is sure she has his attention. Her voice is smug when she says, “So, about the ghost. You ever notice them? Or ever meet them?”

Her words are mocking, doubtful. It is less of an interrogation, and more a lording of her believed power over the conversation. The lofty tone bothers Kaito greatly, and he has to grit his teeth to stop from outright insulting her.

“Yes,” Kaito snaps, finally at his wits’ end with the girl and today in general, “and he’s an asshole.”

And then he slams the door shut in her face with great satisfaction.

There is a moment of blessed, stunned silence from Rio’s side, then angry muttering and a fist banging heavily on the old wood. “What the _fuck_?! The hell did you close the door for, you ass? Elaborate! What do you mean you _met_ them? Hey!”

Her pounding continues, but Kaito ignores it with ease, long since used to tuning out Orbital’s long rants. He locks the door and secures the latch for good measure, smirking faintly when her insults increase as a result, before turning on his heel and walking back into the main room, paying no attention to her cursing.

He only jumps a bit when he turns to find Mizael right behind him, expression a mix of mild insult and amusement.

“Asshole?” Mizael parrots, eyebrows raised, and Kaito scowls at him.

“Shut up,” he retorts, too tired to think of a better response, and swerves to avoid him as he marches back into the kitchen. He isn’t sure whether the laugh he hears is imagined or not, and when he glances over his shoulder, Mizael has disappeared.

-

The next day, Kaito leaves the apartment early despite his lingering exhaustion. Rio had left only after the other tenants had woken from her yelling, and his sleep had been a restless one. Despite the tentative truce between him and Mizael, and the almost… dare he say, good terms the two are now on, his mind cannot so easily accept the change. Paranoia has kept him awake for the past two weeks, every noise jolting him from his restless dozing.

Kaito is glad to escape the stifling atmosphere. A cup of sweetened coffee rouses him from the numb daze he’d entered upon waking, and cold winter air burns in his lungs. Dark, heavy clouds rest in the sky, the early morning gray and faded.

Kaito almost feels positive as he steadily makes his way down the empty streets, taking his time and drinking in the new sights and sounds. Vector’s apartments are the only housing, the rest of the streets taken up by small, cramped stores. It’s an odd place to have an apartment complex, and it definitely sticks out, the dark gray building at least six floors higher than any other structure around.

This far from Heartland’s center, there are very few of the trademark colorful buildings and new technological advancements. Only a couple of cleaning bots roam these streets, and the vending machines are the old models, metallic boxes tucked tight into corners. The concrete sidewalk crumbles near the edges, and the road is desperately in need of a good repair.

This is the part of Heartland that few ever see—the boring, the mundane, the normal. The smiles here are taunt and thin, and the only colors are the clothes they wear on their backs and the nonsensical graffiti sprayed on the otherwise dull walls. Even with two weeks to adjust, the sharp contrast still throws Kaito for a loop.

He looks at the address scrawled on a stray piece of paper and scans the small shops, finally finding his destination. The faded blue sign proclaims “Pegasus Book Store” in blocky lettering, the store itself a small, old building crammed firmly between a diner and a shoe shop. The outside is painted a pale cream, bordering on gray after so many years. When Kaito pushes open the door, the quiet ring of a bell marks his entrance.

The inside is just as cramped as the store itself, long shelves on either side of him framing a small pathway to the back counter, every shelf stacked full of books. Some pile on the floor, and Kaito carefully picks his way to the back of the shop, mindful of every step.

The older man behind the far counter looks up at his entrance, pale eyes appraising. He sets down the worn book he was flipping through, standing from his chair and nodding cordially at him. Kaito returns it automatically, hoping faintly that none of his uncertainty shows on his face.

“Right on time,” the man notes calmly, flicking a quick glance at the clock. He can’t be more than thirty, with pale blond hair as long as Chris’s and a narrow face, his posture straight and his eyes icy with intelligence behind his reading glasses. He’s far taller than Kaito, but there is no superiority in his stance, and his thin smile is kind, if distant.

The man removes his glasses with slender fingers, setting the folded pair on the counter and gesturing Kaito over. “Sit, please. It will only be a short while, but you might as well be comfortable.”

Kaito does so, watching the man’s every move. In contrast, the other barely looks at Kaito at all, busying himself with reseating across from Kaito and fiddling with the piles of books on his desk. He lines up every cover by size and then pushes the books carefully into the corner of the counter to make room for the papers he pulls out from a thin folder.

“Have you ever worked before?” he asks idly, scanning the papers before him. “Tenjou Kaito.”

“No,” Kaito responds hesitantly, and then adds, “But I have done work in my father’s lab, though not paid.”

His could-be employer hums, thumbing through the other sheets. “Scientist?”

“Of a sort. Mostly mechanics.”

“Hmm,” the man says, and marks something on the sheet. “Can you work well with others?”

Here Kaito pauses, and eventually settles on, “Not particularly, no. But I won’t act on it, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s not,” the other states, and gives Kaito a sharp look. “In a normal interview, that would have been a bad answer. However, I am glad you have been honest with me.”

Kaito falls silent, unexpectedly uncomfortable. He’s managed to avoid needing a job up until now, and in his opinion, it’s for a good reason. Kaito is terrible with people, which isn’t what managers usually look for in an employee. To have it be bluntly pointed out to him makes him feel shameful, abruptly aware of every word he’s spoken thus far.

If the man notices Kaito’s sudden discomfort, he doesn’t comment on it. He gives Kaito a thin, vaguely comforting smile before retuning his focus on Kaito’s resume, setting the papers down with a weary sigh.

“Technically there are other questions I’m supposed to care about,” he says conversationally, calmly organizing the resume into a neat pile and placing it to the side, “but I suppose I’ll ask them eventually if you start working here. What hours can you do?”

Kaito pauses. “Any hours, for the next few months,” he says finally. “Then I start classes. I’ll only be able to work afternoons.”

“All morning classes?”

“Yes.”

The man makes a noise in the back of his throat, looking faintly amused. “Good luck,” he returns, and pushes himself up from the desk. “All right then. You’re hired, I suppose. Just be warned that the first three weeks are a sort of trial period. Try not to mess up.”

Kaito blinks at him, and then dips his head in awkward nod. “Noted.”

His new employer gives him an approving glance, sweeping up three books from the counter and heading over to reshelf them. Kaito copies his earlier motions and stands swiftly from his seat.

“That’s that, then. I trust you can start work tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Kaito says, a bit dazed by how quickly the whole interview went. He’s fairly certain this is not the normal process, but he’s definitely not complaining about it, not if it gets him a job.

“Good, that. Come about eight. Officially we open at nine, but I’ll use the spare hour to give you a run-down of how things work. The rest of the staff will help you.”

Kaito nods again, and hesitantly shuffles to the door, pausing just before his exit. “Ah… sir?” he asks finally, the last word unwieldy and unfamiliar on his tongue. “You never introduced yourself.”

The man looks up, blinking blearily at Kaito. “I haven’t intro…? Ah. That’s rather forgetful of me.” He sets down the last book, bowing in greeting. “My name is Mach. I am the owner of this bookstore.”

He smiles again, the expression thin and worn on his pale face. “I look forward to working with you, Tenjou Kaito.”

-

As if whatever being is in charge of the universe cannot handle seeing Kaito having some semblance of peace, the normalcy of his day only lasts until the afternoon. Mizael reappears multiple times throughout, appearing to take some sort of amusement in startling Kaito. Each time, Orbital reacts as if some great grievous harm has been done, and the fallout of that, Kaito suspects, is the whole reason Mizael continues his petty mischief well into the late evening.

By night things finally settle down, the long hours dragging on in silence. It endures only until eleven, when, at about the same time as when their last visitor had come, another knock sounds at the door, firm and strong.

Kaito looks up from the book he was skimming through, eyeing the door suspiciously. Mizael, who has been appearing in and out view for the past hour without much incident, turns away from the window with a pensive frown. Even Orbital pauses, despite only having heard about yesterday’s incident from Kaito.

Mizael glances at Kaito, his brows furrowed, but only shrugs when Kaito gives him a questioning look. Premonition is one power sprits apparently do not have.

Kaito mutters under his breath as he pushes himself from the couch, quietly hoping it isn’t who he suspects. He walks silently over to the door, making sure to drag his feet a bit in order to muffle any sound.

He glances through the peephole and frowns at what he sees, irritated at being correct. Rio stands solemnly outside, her hands loosely entwined before her and eyes flickering over the hall, before resting on the peephole. It feels unnervingly like she is staring right at him, though Kaito knows she cannot see anything through it.

“I know you’re there,” she says finally. Unlike before, her words are more subdued, precise and slow as if she’s considering every word before she speaks it. “I’m not here to curse at you. I’m here to apologize. I’ll do it before the closed door if I must but I’d prefer face-to-face, if you’re willing to accept it.”

Kaito leans back, crossing his arms and thumping back against the wood to let her know he’s listening. He still doesn’t open the door. He doesn’t trust her not to pull the same trick from yesterday.

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

He half-expects her start yelling again, but her response is crisp and even. “No, I suppose not.”

He frowns, tilting his head back against the wood. Mizael catches his attention; the spirit has risen from his place to linger closer to the door, his frown more pronounced. His eyes are unfocused, as if looking past the wood to person waiting patiently beyond it, his confusion evident.

He senses Kaito’s attention and meets his eyes, nodding his head meaningfully at the door. “Different,” he says, pronouncing every syllable with deliberate emphasis.

Kaito considers him, then glances back through the peephole to where Rio stands silent, still waiting for Kaito’s reply.

“Different…” he repeats in a mutter, trying to puzzle out what Mizael means. A fleeting glimpse to the side confirms the spirit has vanished once again, leaving Kaito on his own to figure out the meaning.

On the other end of the door, Rio starts, blinking up in confusion.

“Sorry,” she says hesitantly. “I didn’t catch that. What—”

Kaito opens the door. She stops, mouth open, then seems to shake off her surprise and straighten. Her stance is firm but not nearly as prideful, and while her face is impassive the control is not nearly as paper-thin as Kaito expects, considering how quickly she blew up during their first meeting.

She bows shortly, and doesn’t seem too bothered when Kaito doesn’t return it. Her movements are fluid, her expressions suited to her delicate features. She seems more composed than she did before, more at ease in her own skin.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” she starts, wincing at Kaito’s sarcastic snort. “I wasn’t… very polite, and I’d like to apologize for that. Some people I’ve spoken too were harmed by the spirits in their household. I was worried, especially considering recent, ah, reports, concerning your apartment.”

She looks him in the eye, expression serious. “However, that was no excuse for me to act as I did. I apologize for my rudeness.”

Kaito considers her, privately unnerved by the drastic shift in personality. Finally he says, “Tenjou Kaito.”

She seems taken aback, then her eyes widen. “Oh. Your name?”

He inclines his head at her, and she gives him a thin-lipped smile in return. “Kamishiro Rio,” she returns wryly. “But you already knew that.”

Kaito hums, and watches her carefully. She doesn’t fidget under his stare, just meets his eyes with a surprising amount of composure.

“The spirit you were so worried about,” Kaito starts slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Don’t be. It’s dealt with.”

Oddly enough, she appears disheartened at this information, her shoulders slumping and her eyes crestfallen. “Oh. That’s… that’s good.”

She must see his odd look, because she straightens almost immediately and reaffirms. “Good. I’m glad.”

Kaito doesn’t respond, just sighs and turns away to head back inside his apartment. Mizael wisely stays out of sight, Orbital trying his best to appear as a largely misshapen vacuum in the corner.

“It’s late," Kaito offers, when she doesn’t move right away. “Apology delivered. You can go.”

Rio starts, and then smiles faintly. “You’re right,” she agrees. “I’ve been stealing your time. Good night, Kaito.”

Kaito nods at her again, still too uncomfortable in her presence and privately unnerved by the familiar address to return the farewell. He shuts the door again, careful not to slam it lest he wake the other residents. He waits with his hand loosely encircled around the doorknob until he can no longer hear her receding footsteps, and even after that he lingers by the door, his thoughts reeling.

Her demeanor, her stance, her words and temperament—all significantly changed from before, though Kaito doesn’t have much to compare to. But just then, listening to the whirr of the store-bought fan in the back and the soft sound of her fading footsteps, a new difference occurs to him, one so obvious he can’t believe he didn’t realize it right off the bat.

That last night, he is certain her eyes had been blue, dark and burning like fire. But her eyes now were wine red, as calm and unreadable as a still lake.

Kaito stares at his door, as if he can see past the wood to the strange girl walking away, with all the oddities and mystery she brings like a dark cloud.

And he wonders.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week’s update will have to be postponed until the week after, due to a time-consuming school project and a long trip. On the bright side, the chapter will likely be better written because of it, so, score?
> 
> Also, what your thoughts on Rio? I'm excited to see what you guys think of her!


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